Need You Never
by WeissHewley
Summary: This is very cheesy - oneshot I don't know, first time I've written for this particular pairing ... hope my references are caught. Rated T because I said so.


**Fluffy!**

Okay, so this is one of those 'cheesy' fluff stories I've been getting distracted with.  
I mostly had the idea for a while, just didn't know how to put it until I listened to "Need You Now"  
about 80 times. Anyway, it's kind of a random pairing I've been into but never really did much  
with until now. So ... hope you enjoy it. 3

( Semi-kind-of-a present for someone. Not sure if she'll dig, though, haha. Happy Graduation! )

* * *

**Need You Never  
**_Oneshot_

Things hadn't exactly gone his way. Then again, this type of 'thing' wasn't exactly his forte. Neither was 'love,' but Lazard had stuck through it for seven months and thirteen days, not that he was counting. He was alone now, facing his 'problem' without help from one person he trusted most. One person he felt he connected with so casually; who was probably sitting in their office, twisting a screw driver into a machine with a neutral expression. The one person who he had forcefully torn apart from himself couldn't even help him. The one person he _wanted _to help.

What sort of Director would he be if he couldn't pull this off? He had lead SOLDIER across many successful missions aiding in ShinRA's desires, but what could he do now? He didn't have an army to back him up. They were too busy scrambling around and looking for the missing SOLDIERs. The only people who could help him were two scientists he barely trusted to even prescribe medication.

His hair was getting whiter, his body was aching. He wasn't even that old to begin with – but science and its mistakes. All he wanted was to make things better – but with this, it only seemed that things were getting worse. Lazard Deusericus sat on his sofa in his compact apartment with a small glass of whiskey in front of him. He remained unchanged from his normal attire – thin-rimmed glasses, purple suit jacket, white pants, dark shoes, and white gloves. He brought the glass to his mouth, staring dryly at his ShinRA issued cell phone. He glared at it, sipping his drink, as if it were staring at him and begging him to do something.

The screen on the outside of the phone suddenly lit up, and for a moment, he felt his anger at it go away. However, when he read that it only said "One New Text Message; X. Tseng," his glare returned.

"Foolish." He mumbled to himself, tilting his head back and drinking what remained in his glass. Placing it back down on the small brown coffee table in front of him, he leaned both his elbows on his knees, directing his gaze to the floor. He closed his eyes and shook his head of semi-gold hair, bringing a hand to his forehead. He was beginning to regret ever saying such words.

"_I am breaking this off. I've had enough of you. I will never call you, nor speak with you, outside of the workplace, understood?" _His voice had been so full of rage at that point; he had convinced himself he truly _did_ hate that one person.

However, that was far from true. He wasn't mad at _them_, he was mad at himself. Lifting his gaze to his phone, he frowned, snatching it off the table, scrolling through names, and reaching the one he was searching for. He brought the slender phone to his ear, placing the receiver against his ear and listening to the three rings before the answering machine came up. Frowning once again at the disappointment, Lazard laid on the couch, rolling over on his side and staring at the back of the couch, listening to the message.

"It's nice to hear your voice, even if it was on a machine." He mumbled the moment the tone was made. "I know I said I wouldn't call, but …" he paused, closing his eyes tightly and inhaling quietly. "I really need you …" He paused shortly, opening his eyes and trying to think of something. "There's something wrong with the training room, and you're the only one I trust to fix it." He added weakly, as if it would cover up for his slip of the tongue.

Lazard refused to come off as … _caring_ and _wrong_ in his decision. He was aware it was inevitable, by this point, but he wanted to prolong it for as long as he could. He could even blame it on his two cups of alcohol. Perhaps he was slightly intoxicated and it impaired his judgment. Yes. The alcohol.

"Please." He finally muttered after a long pause, snapping his phone shut and grabbing a small pillow to squeeze tightly in his arms. Without care, he tossed his cell phone over the couch and onto the floor, glaring at the cushions on the back of it. "It was an awful choice." He growled to himself, the blame placed nowhere else but upon his own being.

Just as Lazard had thought, the 'one person' he trusted was, indeed, in his office. However, he wasn't tinkering with machines. He was sitting in his chair, his arms brought together atop his desk and his head resting on both of them. Reeve Tuesti was actually falling asleep, even with a steaming cup of coffee to his right-hand side.

He couldn't bring himself to tinker with machines to try and concentrate on something else. He felt as though that wasn't even enough to distract him from what he had just been told two days before. So much hatred – and so sudden, too. There had to be something wrong, something had to have been controlling Lazard. He would never lash out like that.

However, there was always the off-chance that Lazard had just gotten over him and was tired of seeing the same happy man everywhere he went. What if that was the reason? His attitude? No … that would have affected the Director months before. They had worked together for a couple years, it wasn't as if they had just gotten to know each other.

But Reeve couldn't find any other explanation for this rash behavior. It must have been something he did … was he paying too much attention to his work? Did he forget to buy something? Did he miss an important date? Of course not … he made sure to remember everything. From their "one week" to the other man's birthday, he remembered every one of them. What did he miss?

He was brought out of his state of near-sleep by the soft vibration from his cell phone sitting across his desk. Though his expression remained neutral, he stared at the phone. He was tempted to grab it, but he knew he would be disappointed to see that it was only a text message from one of the Turks. Something that could wait until later as it was – he glanced at the clock in the lower right hand corner of his computer monitor – 1:14 AM. A message that early could only be some sort of 'mission' for him to get to later in the day.

The man directed his tired gaze to the door on the far side of the room, as if what he wanted would come sweeping in with a dramatic entrance. Unfortunately, he was left staring at the solid door in complete silence before directing his eyes back to the phone.

He mulled over whether or not he should get his phone, ultimately deciding to leave it. That is, before the small tone went off that signified he had a new _voice mail_, not some message the Turks were sending. They never _called_ him with anything, unless it was extremely dire – but even then, they didn't leave messages.

Though he appeared semi-astonished at the idea of a message, Reeve stared at his cell phone, his eyes unmoving from the device.

When it finally sunk in that he had a new voice message, he quickly snatched up the phone, after reaching across his relatively messy desk, and flipped the phone open. With a small little envelope in the corner, the screen read 'One New Voice Mail; Lazard Deusericus.'

Unsure if he should be excited or disappointed, Reeve watched the screen for a moment, catching the clock of the cell phone change from '1:14 AM' to '1:15 AM.' Yes, he would listen to it. Hesitantly, he dialed his own number, entered the pass-code, and listened to the message.

A smile crossed his tired face, listening to the message – at least, until he heard the final part. As weak as it sounded, the Director felt the need to add it. Slightly disappointed, he listened to it a couple more times, the smile on his face slowly fading. He was beginning to piece things together … there was something very wrong with Lazard. And he wasn't willing to let anyone help.

Shaking his head, Reeve cleared his phone, swiftly dialing Lazard's number and listening to the rings. "Come on…" he mumbled, waiting for an answer. To his dismay, he got the answering machine. Exhaling a sigh as he listened to the automated voice of Lazard Deusericus, he began to prepare what he would say once the tone went off.

"Lazard, it's me, Reeve. It's … a little more than a quarter after one. I'm surprised I even crossed your mind – unfortunately, it's been happening a lot with me." He let a weak chuckle escape from his throat. "Are you alright? You sounded upset." He paused, sighing to himself, coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't speaking to a person, but a machine that would only record his voice. "I'm coming over, Lazard. Expect me there shortly." He finished, closing his phone and staring at the number. 1:18 AM. He should have been asleep.

The past few days weren't exactly his best for sleeping, in fact, he failed to get a decent amount of sleep for three of them. And now, it was going to happen again. The Director was more important than his sleep, though.

The weather was less than agreeable to him, so Reeve had thrown on a blue and gray scarf; one he recalled was gifted to him from the Director. With less than twenty minutes under his belt, Reeve rushed up the stairs of the apartment, opting not to wait for the elevator. Five floors were nothing compared to the ShinRA building.

Number Five-Thirty-Three; he spotted the golden numbers on the outside of the dark brown door, knocking against the wood twice and remaining quiet while awaiting a response. "Lazard?" He mumbled, leaning his ear against the door to try and decipher if there was movement inside.

When he was granted with nothing in response, Reeve gently turned the door knob to the apartment, surprised to find it was open as opposed to locked. He sighed softly, pushing the door open with his free hand, glancing around the inside of the apartment. At first, the only thing that seemed to strike him as important was the near-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table through the first archway of the hallway.

"I'm coming in." He announced aloud, in case Lazard was unaware of his arrival. He entered the home, closing the door quietly behind him. Softly, he walked across the floor into the room holding the couch and coffee table. Upon his entrance, he flicked on the lights in order to clear up his view. On the table, he saw a cup that had clearly been used many times to hold the liquor. Disapproving, he approached the table and reached for the bottle, but the sight of a, seemingly, sleeping Lazard distracted him. Diverting from the bottle to the couch, he squatted by the man's side, placing a hand on his shoulder, shaking it in the slightest.

"_Director_?" He asked, using the title he would use for his co-worker, as opposed to someone closer.

Though hesitant, the semi-blonde man rolled over from his position on the couch to face the intruder to his home, his gaze gentle, though his face appearing a little different than normal. "Reeve. You came." He mumbled, squeezing the pillow in his arms tighter.

"Of course I did." Reeve smiled, chuckling quietly, reaching hand to touch the Director's face. Though, in skepticism, Lazard started to laugh to himself, batting the hand away.

"I'm a little intoxicated." He snickered, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "I don't know what I was thinking." Lazard continued, adding unintelligent mumbles after his sentence.

Reeve frowned, moving to sit next to the shorter man, patting his back in an attempt at comfort as opposed to affection. "That's not true. You knew what you were doing." He mumbled, leaning over his own lap a little to try and read the man's expression.

Giving up easily, Lazard gave an expression of 'defeat' momentarily. No more than a second after did he switch from 'defeated' to 'angry.' "I told you it was over."

"I'm not here because of that – " Reeve began, though he was cut off shortly after he began.

"I told you I didn't want to see you again unless it was related to work." Lazard stood up, glaring through his glasses at the man, dropping the pillow by his feet. "I called you about the training room." His words still seemed weak, though his tone was full of rage at _something_. "It meant nothing, Reeve. You need to_ move on_." He hissed, reaching a hand up and brushing away some of the hair that happened to fall into his face.

As he heard the words, Reeve felt as though a dagger was being pressed into his heart with every word. With a sense of guilt, he dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Get out of here, Tuesti. I don't want to see your face again." He growled, turning his back to the elder, crossing his arms over his chest, and glaring at the wall furthest from him.

Without words, the other stood up from his sitting position, though he didn't go for the door. Instead, Reeve looked at Lazard's back, his guilty expression still in place. Unexpectedly, he brought his arms around Lazard and brought his chin to the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry for what I've done, though I don't know exactly what it was." He mumbled quietly, feeling Lazard stiffen in his stance. "I cannot forgive myself for whatever I may have done that has hurt you."

At the apology, Lazard dropped his gaze from the wall to the very corner of the room while his cheeks flushed a light pink. Instead of retorting with some rage-fueled response, he brought his arms around Reeve's, closing his eyes and exhaling quietly as he tried to relax himself.

"Reeve."

"I'm sorry." He apologized again, squeezing the man tightly.

"Reeve – you haven't done anything." The blond mumbled softly, shaking his head and shifting so he was facing the other, keeping the embrace. "Look at me."

"You've got a few white hairs … but we all do." Reeve managed to smile a little bit, his eyes clearly reading he was on the verge of letting himself cry.

"No, Reeve, my body is deteriorating. Soon, I won't even be able to hold the face I was born with. I'll become nothing more than a clone bound to die. I didn't want you to have to deal with that."

"That's not true. You're still you." He responded, shaking his head and pulling Lazard as close as physically possible. "No matter what happens, nothing will change who you are."

Smiling a little at Reeve's comment, Lazard wrapped his arms around the taller man, shaking his head in response, though he burrowed his face into his chest. "You don't understand, Reeve. My body will be entirely gone in a matter of days. My face will no longer by my own. My own strength is draining away right now. Soon I'll be nothing but a mind and soul in the body of …"

"… of what?" Reeve asked, shaking his head, as if he were refusing to accept anything he was saying.

"It doesn't matter. Reeve, I want you to move on."

"I don't want to move on …" He offered as a whispered response, squeezing the other tighter in his arms, hoping it could change the future. "I …"

"I _want_ you to go out and have a life of your own. Don't _dwell_ on me."

"Lazard …"

"Listen to me, Reeve." He began to hiss a little in his statement. "Nothing you do will change what's going to happen. There's no point in wasting any more time. I want you to have a full life." His tone dropped back to a neutral pitch, grabbing on to Reeve's jacket. "I want you to move on because _I_ love _you_."

The words seemed to strike a sweet-spot in Reeve, because the moment they were said, his hug lessened around Lazard and his gaze seemed to soften up. "I love you, too."

"That much is clear." Lazard shook his head, lightly tugging on Reeve's scarf. "I gave you that a long while back. You shouldn't still have it." He chuckled very weakly, finding it a bit amusing.

"I would never get rid of anything you gave me." He assured, caressing his cheek and smiling in the slightest.

As happy as that one millisecond made the two of them feel, Lazard felt he had to return to the matter at hand. "I'm going to die."

"We all are, one day."

"I mean sooner than you. Far sooner. I only have so much time left before I _completely_ cease to look like myself."

"I would still know who you were…"

"That makes no difference, Reeve." He pulled the man's hand away from his face. "My body will still die and my soul will be recycled to the LifeStream, as order goes."

Finally accepting what Lazard was telling him, Reeve leaned forward towards his face, quickly kissing the man's cheek. "I won't stop loving you, even after you're gone."

"You have to. Don't grow up alone, Reeve. I don't want you to be _stuck_ on me!" He growled. Though he did wish to return the affection, Lazard felt it would be best to leave the situation where it was. "Go home, Reeve. Get some sleep." He offered quietly.

"… Let me spend the night."

"I don't _want_ you here."

"… please?" He croaked, clearing his throat to try and make his expression stronger.

"Fine, but this is the only time. Don't be surprised if I'm gone before you wake up." Deusericus warned, narrowing his eyes.

With a small grin, Reeve gave Lazard another hug before backing off a little bit. "I love you, too." He chuckled softly, ruffling up Lazard's hair. Appearing less amused than Reeve, Lazard only watched him, unsure if he actually understood that he wouldn't be there when they woke up.

It would be someone completely different.


End file.
